State of Disunion
by smartyjonescrzy
Summary: Ferris and Sloane find themselves caught living the typical, suburban nightmare, and it threatens to pull them away not only from each other, but from themselves. The solution to their problems just might lie in aspirations for the Best Job in the Land.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own 'Ferris Bueller's Day Off' and any affiliated characters and events.**

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**State of Disunion**

**Chapter 1**

_"…Overcast and raining, temperatures in the low 40s. One hundred percent chance of thunderstorms tonight with wind gusts of about twenty-five miles per hour. The rain continues into tomorrow and throughout the week. Happy Hour approaches, folks, and that wraps up our weather forecast for this evening. Enjoy the spring day, Chicago. Drive home safe…"_

The radio voice faded out to a pop song just as another voice spoke from somewhere overhead. "Mr. Bueller…hey, Mr. Bueller? Are you all right?"

Ferris Bueller blinked a couple of times from where his head rested on his desk and slowly looked up at his young secretary, Cynthia Forsythe. "Let me sleep, will ya?" He mumbled.

"Here are the photocopies you requested." The stenographer smiled and handed him a stack of typewritten pages.

Ferris reluctantly sat up and took the papers. "I sent for these things a half hour ago," he grumbled, putting on his reading glasses to examine the copies more closely. He flipped through the pages disinterestedly, one hand stroking his temple all the while. His tie hung crooked from when he'd loosened it several hours ago and the top two buttons of his blue collared work shirt remained unfastened. His short brown hair stuck up on the side he'd been resting against the desk a minute ago and his usually youthful face looked haggard and worn.

His work desk was in much the same state as its owner. Papers lay stacked in sloppy, teetering piles on all ends, masking much of its surface. Stray pens and paper clips poked out from among the rubble of paper. A stapler that seemed to eternally be out of staples perched precariously on the edge with an assortment of unused paperweights. The paperweights always had a way of dropping to the floor repeatedly whenever Cynthia was around. Cynthia, with her Hollywood starlet figure and low-cut blouses, didn't like anything better than bending down to retrieve them when in the vicinity of her employer.

One of them presently landed on the floor with a light _thunk. _"Oops," Cynthia murmured, stooping to pick it up.

But Ferris wasn't even paying her any attention. He skimmed tiredly over the typed lines, his mind dull with inactivity. His hand ceased its rubbing and stretched out toward a three-fourths empty paper cup of diet cola from the local Speedy Eaties. The drink sat atop one of the paperwork mounds beside a crumpled Speedy Eaties sandwich wrapper and a half-depleted packet of mustard. He picked it up and took a halfhearted sip before slowly setting it back down.

"Is that everything you wanted, sir?"

"Yeah, it looks all right." Ferris sighed and shoved the whole stack away in one of his cluttered desk drawers. "What took you so long?"

"I was putting together the booth materials for the convention next week, like you told me to."

"That's right," Ferris took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "I forgot about that. Detroit, this time, right?"

"Cleveland."

"Mm." Ferris leaned back in his seat. "You can book the airline tickets for Monday, business class. And try not to get some ungodly departure time, will you?"

"Yes, sir. Will that be all?" Cynthia tilted her platinum blonde head and gazed at him expectantly.

"Yeah, better call it a day. See you tomorrow, Cynthia." He folded his arms behind his head and smiled wolfishly as he watched the rear end of his secretary disappear into the hall.

The office was quiet for a second. Ferris closed his eyes and reveled in the moment. Then the clock chimed insistently, indicating that 5 p.m. had come at last, and all at once Ferris Bueller came back to life.

He sprang up out of his chair, not caring when it tipped over backwards and crashed into the potted plant sitting by his window. He hastily gathered up his briefcase and coat by the door before clicking off the lights and locking up. He turned and moved briskly down the hall, whistling as he went.

He smiled and waved to the other people in his department as he passed. "See you, Phyllis…Tom…Randy! Good work on the Detroit pamphlet! I'm getting more printed up to use in Cleveland next week."

"Gee, thanks, Ferris!" Called a short, bespectacled red-haired man from the water cooler. He looked back down and grimaced as he realized he'd overfilled his paper cup and was pouring water all over his shoe.

Ferris came to the grouping of stenographers' desks and smiled as he leapt up on top of them. He hopped from desk to desk until he got across, ignoring the shouts of feigned displeasure from the young girls.

"Ferris, leaving so soon?" The matronly old Mrs. Worthing smiled and then gasped as Ferris intercepted her in the hallway and twirled her around.

He laughed and kissed the gray-haired woman's leathery cheek. "Don't think I'm rushing off on your account, Mrs. Worthing. If it were up to me, I'd stay here all day with you. But I've got a family to think of." He took her hand and pressed it against his chest. "I couldn't just abandon them, despite my undying love for you."

"Oh, my land!" Mrs. Worthing blushed and swatted the young man away. She hurried down the hall, her arms aflutter. "My blood pressure's through the roof! You'll be the death of me yet, boy!"

"I don't care what you say! I still love you, and I always will!" He called, grinning. Her door slammed shut in reply. He laughed and continued across the floor until he finally boarded the elevator. Once inside, he couldn't keep still, tapping his foot and humming along with the elevator music as the lift descended seven floors.

The doors opened onto the expansive lobby of Meadowbrook Insurance Adjustment, Ltd., Proudly Serving the Midwest Since room was spotless and businesslike, and very pleasing to the eye of a prospective client. The patterned tile, the comfy seating arrangement around a coffee table supplied with only the newest magazines, the bright chandelier hanging from the middle of the ceiling, all were designed to impress.

Ferris crossed the room purposefully to the receptionist's desk. "Hey, Eunice," he called cheerfully.

An unassuming, mousy head looked up. Eunice, close to forty, looked closer to fifty. She hid behind the comfort of her desk most of her days, trading courteous remarks with the clientele all day long. Most of the time, she kept to herself and read when she wasn't busy. A hermitlike old maid, it had been a stretch to get her to attend any of the office parties until Ferris had joined the firm. He had done wonders for her. He felt sorry for the lady, who was never anything but nice to him, and took pride in getting her to rediscover the world.

He reached her desk and picked up the green nameplate sitting closest to the edge. "How are we doing today, Eunice?" He asked, looking the little plate over. When he was finished, he dropped it into the large potted fern sitting on one end of the long desk.

Eunice sighed. "Oh, Ferris, why'd you have to do that? It'll take me hours to find it in there!"

"Don't sweat it. I'll get you a new one that isn't that disgusting green color." He smiled down at her. "Let the boss know I've checked out in case he tries hunting me down for something. And, uh, remind him that I'll be out three, maybe four days for that convention going on next week, okay?"

"Is your wife going with you?" She asked lightly, typing a memo onto her blue computer screen.

"My what?" Ferris shook his head. "Oh, no. She never comes with me on my business trips. She'd be bored out of her mind."

"I'm curious to meet Mrs. Bueller. I've never seen her around here." Eunice rested her chin on her hand and gazed up at Ferris.

"That's because Mrs. Bueller is a very busy woman." He smiled thinly and quickly changed the subject. "In case I don't come in tomorrow, Eunice, I'll say goodbye now until this time next week."

"My new nameplate has to wait a whole week?" Eunice arched a brow. "I'm not impressed, Ferris."

"Lighten up, Eunice. You're no fun to mess around with, you know that?" He smiled and pulled the headband out of her hair. When she smiled and looked back at her computer screen, he turned to go. He paused next to the fern, studying it for a minute, then backed up until he was in front of her again. "Place your trashcan behind your desk instead of next to it. It'll look nicer that way. And get some flowers in here." He pulled a leaf off of the fern. "They'll look nicer than this old thing."

Eunice shook her head and chuckled. "Good night, Ferris."

He went through the door and paused for a minute to watch the rain pouring down heavily on the parking lot. He finally smiled and walked from the building to his car bareheaded, as if in retaliation of the rain. The weather had no effect on his mood, which lightened with each step away from the firm. It was this charisma, this attitude, this charm that had landed him the job as marketing director of Meadowbrook Insurance Adjustment, Ltd. Unfortunately, this same sparkling feature of his personality was completely absent during office hours. Sure, it was a decent job, but it was a dull one. As a result, he couldn't muster an ounce of enthusiasm for it. He'd even grown tired of driving down the street and seeing every metro bus in the city plastered with his smiling image alongside the firm's slogan, 'Claims You Can Count On!' and underneath it, 'Proudly Serving the Midwest Since 1971. 555-4732. Call Now to Arrange a Meeting With One of Our Friendly Adjustors!' He wasn't just the big marketing director; he was the company's figurehead, their poster child. And so Ferris was resigned to watching life from a large Plexiglas window seven stories above the ground.

He threw his briefcase onto the passenger seat of his station wagon and stuck the key in the ignition. The entire car smelled like Speedy Eaties, and cheerios dotted the floor and seats. He pushed aside the jumbled collection of Wayne Newton cassettes sitting on the dashboard and opened the glove compartment. He waded through a mess of napkins, baby wipes, discarded pieces of chewing gum and tattered road maps, searching for his mint tin.

"There it is." He reached down underneath the passenger seat, shoving a pocket dictionary out of the way. Once he'd finally retrieved it, he closed his door and turned the key. The engine slowly sputtered to life and he pulled out onto the highway toward home.

He knew his car was a piece of shit, but Ferris didn't care. Speeding along the road, he felt free and alive. It really didn't matter what he drove; he was riding high.

Suddenly, he slammed on his brakes and slowed to a stop as a mass of stationary vehicles came into view. His spirits deflated and his shoulders slumped forward. The sound of pavement whizzing under tire was exchanged for the angry blare of car horns. He sighed. The traffic jam had permitted reality to come cruelly crashing down on him once more.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"Yes, I know, Judy, but Miss White can't bring a pot roast. Mrs. Rice always cooks a pot roast, and she's as old as the church." Sloane Bueller, née Peterson, stirred a boiling pot of instant macaroni as she talked into the phone cradled on her shoulder. On her other shoulder rested her infant daughter against a spit-up rag. The cord of the phone circled around her oversized, orange turtleneck and slim black pants, twisted repeatedly from being dragged all over the kitchen. Her sleeves were rolled up to her elbows and her long brown hair was pulled back into a haphazard ponytail.

"Have you talked to Linda yet about what she's bringing?" Sloane asked into the phone, moving over to the microwave to toss in a bag full of frozen fishsticks. As she did so, a Power Rangers playground ball bounced past her feet.

"...sure she doesn't bring meatloaf again. Cam!" She gave her eight-year-old son a disapproving look as he scurried after it. "What did I tell you about bouncing balls in the house?"

"Sorry, Mom! It got away from me!" Cameron called, chasing it back through the open screen door to the back porch.

"Don't get too dirty! Dinner will be ready soon!" She called after him, pulling the defrosted fishsticks out of the microwave. She dumped them hurriedly onto a cookie sheet and shoved them into the oven beneath the rack containing her rolls. "What, Judy? Of course I'm still listening..."

She caught sight of her seven-year-old daughter padding down the hallway and held out a hand to intercept her. "Patty, why are your feet all wet?"

"From the bathtub." The girl replied matter-of-factly. Her stringy brown braids twisted over her shoulders at odd angles. In her hands, she held a small model horse. She'd been careful not to get her clothes too wet, but her bare feet had dripped pools of water out into the hall. Her dark brown eyes curiously regarded her mother, as if to ask what exactly she'd done wrong. Sloane almost smiled. If it weren't for her overabundant smattering of freckles and a terrible overbite, the girl might have been pretty.

"Well, what were you doing in the bathtub?"

"Standing my pony." Patty held up the dripping model. "He needs it. His hocks was sore."

Sloane sighed and wiped her forehead. "Okay. I'll clean it up after dinner. Any more you have to go stand?"

Patty solemnly shook her head. "No, Mommy. Sunbeam's the only one that's lame."

She turned and padded out to the living room, where she carefully returned the pony to his stall in her little stable. She picked up a different one and pretended to brush it.

Across the room, her three-year-old sister Emily was scribbling in a coloring book and making airplane noises with her mouth. After a few minutes of this, she shut the book and began fiddling with the dial on the television set.

Patty frowned. "MOM-MY! Emily's playing with the TV!"

"Hang on for a second, Judy, the ceiling's ready to fall in." Sloane covered the mouthpiece, scowling in annoyance. "Is she crawling on it or anything?"

"No, she's messing with all the buttons!" Patty wailed.

"Then let her play! Just don't let her break it!" Sloane shook her head, shifted the baby's weight on her shoulder and turned back to the macaroni on the stovetop. "Now, Judy," she said into the phone, her voice returned to its sweetly complacent tone. "I was wondering if we couldn't get Mrs. Jones to bring her cabbage rolls..."

Patty stuck her tongue out at her little sister, placing a tiny saddle on her plastic horse.

"Where's Bugs Bunny?" Emily whined. She turned the dials all the way one way, then all the way the other. When she didn't get the results she expected, she began making pathetic sobbing noises. Emily had been blessed with dark blonde hair and the face of an angel. Used to being the baby in the family before little Andrea had been born, she was pampered by her parents so much so that she was spoiled. Unlike her older brothers and sister, she'd been impressed upon that there was nothing she couldn't get if she just yelled loud enough.

"TV no go!" She presently protested in a trembling voice, her lower lip protruding out sullenly. She crossed her stubby arms and sat down on the floor right in front of the stubborn television. "Sissy, help!" She cried.

Patty glanced at her nonchalantly. "Can't get it to work, can you? You can't cause you'd just break it. You're not smart enough to make it work."

"Am too! Am too!" Emily got up and stomped around, yelling just because she could. Patty gathered up all of her model horses and shielded them protectively from her sister's wrath.

As quickly as the storm surfaced, it blew over. The sound of wheels turning in the drive arrested her attention, causing her to climb up on top of a chair to see out the front window. At the sight of the family station wagon, she gasped excitedly. "Daddy's home! Daddy's home!"

"Really?" Patty looked up with interest, slowly setting her horses down.

A minute later, the girls' father burst through the door. The rain had drenched him from head to foot and he carried his sopping coat and briefcase on his arm. He was all bright smiles for the family. "Hey! I'm home!"

"Daddy!"

He looked down and laughed to see his two daughters barrel into him. He crouched down to their level and put his arms around each of them. "If it isn't the cowgirl and the princess! You know, I missed you today."

"You did?" Emily squealed.

He nodded. "Yeah. I even brought presents for you." He unsnapped the clasp of his briefcase and pulled out a postcard with a picture of wild horses galloping across the front. "This is for you, Patty..."

Patty gasped and gently took it, breathless with awe. She stood for a minute, admiring the image of horses of all different colors and sizes as one beautiful mass in flight. Her "thank you," was barely audible.

Ferris smiled at her obvious delight. "You can put it on your wall with the others."

"I will! This one's going right by my bed!" She exclaimed, then looked down at the model horse she held in her hand as though it were a neglected old friend. "Daddy...can I take Miss Blue out for a ride real fast? She gets awful wound up, an' if I wait till after dinner she'll be even worse with all the oats in her. Can I?"

Ferris studied the carefully tacked blue roan pony she held in her hand. "Where do you usually take her?"

"Down the street, to Mr. Johnson's yard. I run her round and round his big tree till she gets tired."

He smiled and patted her back. "Sure, the rain's let up. Why not?"

Patty grinned. "Thanks, Daddy!" She quickly set her postcard down and picked up the little twig she used as a riding crop. She swatted it against her thigh and chirruped, galloping out the door with the tiny model horse held up in front of her.

"What do I get?" Emily cried, bouncing up and down excitedly.

"I don't know, Princess. I don't think I see anything in here for you." Ferris rummaged around in his bag, then stopped and looked at her. "Wait a minute. There it is." He reached around and pulled a silver half-dollar out from behind her ear. Emily giggled and Ferris laughed with her lovingly. "Here you go." He held it out on his palm for her.

"Pretty!" The girl cried, snatching it up. She held it up in the faint, rain-streaked sunlight, laughing at its bright shine.

"You can go show it off to Junior while I get ready for dinner." Ferris stood and picked up his dripping things.

"No go in Junior's room." Emily shook her downy head. "Junior sick. Funny man said so."

Ferris frowned in concern. _"Junior sick...?" _He mouthed the words silently.

Before he could ask her any questions, Emily darted off running, holding her shiny coin in the air admiringly.

Ferris slowly set his briefcase down in its customary place by the door and hung his coat up in the hall closet. He murmured things about Junior being sick in a dazed voice under his breath, moving out into the kitchen. He smiled when he saw his eldest son coming in through the porch door, a playground ball tucked under his arm. "Hi, pal. You pick up your peanut brittle from Mr. Anderson today?"

"Yeah, Dad. You're still gonna help me with my sale spitch after dinner, right?" The boy raised his dark head eagerly.

"Of course I'm going to help you with your 'spitch,' bud." Ferris rumpled the boy's hair. "And when we're done, we'll go hit up the street before dark."

"Awesome! Thanks, Dad!" Cameron ducked past him and ran for the stairs, carrying the ball back up to his room.

"Uh-huh...yes, of course I'm writing all of this down." Sloane removed the lid from a can of green beans and poured the mushy vegetables into another pot of hot water on the stove. She hurriedly turned and switched off the burner under the macaroni, groaning and shifting the baby's weight yet again.

Ferris slowly came up behind his wife and put his arms around her, his head resting gently against hers.

"But Mrs. Knickenbacker has never made apple pie! Listen, she's always made apple streudel. She's famous for her apple streudel, and she'll make a hundred apple streudels before she bakes an apple pie!" Sloane rolled her eyes heavenward and set to work dumping mounds of applesauce onto each plate. Ferris she ignored completely.

"...I have at least twenty more women to call! Judy, I...well, how about I come over to your house and we can sit down and work on it...no, tomorrow morning's not good, I have to take Emily to her play group." She hurriedly stirred the beans around before slamming a lid on top of them. The noise was enough to startle baby Andrea from her nap, and she softly began to cry. Sloane sighed. "Hang on a second, I've woke the baby. Will you take her?" She turned around to Ferris and passed the infant over to him, pulling the spit-up towel from her shoulder and flinging it at him.

Ferris caught it easily and threw it over his shoulder. He took a few steps away from his preoccupied wife to turn his full attention on the three-month-old infant. "Hi, Andrea! Hi, baby! Daddy's home!" He babbled in an excited whisper, holding her up in front of him. Almost immediately, Andrea quieted and stared down at the man holding her, as if in mild bewilderment.

Ferris broke into a wide smile. "That's my girl," he murmured, holding her close to him. He walked across the kitchen and out into the living room, gently bouncing her up and down in his arms.

"Yes, I know that, but Cam has a soccer game that afternoon...well, he's certainly not going to go alone and one of us has to stay at the house to look after Junior and the baby." Sloane gave the green beans another push with her spoon before taking them off the stove. Cameron started to run past her, but she put out a hand to stop him. "Set the table, will you, Cam?"

The boy's shoulders sagged. "Yes, Mom," he murmured, pulling handfuls of silverware out of a nearby drawer.

Ferris was flipping through his mail in the living room, still making cooing noises for the baby. He handed her a letter from Ed McMannis that almost instantly wound up in her mouth. "Bill, bill, bill, bill..." He muttered, going through them hurriedly. "Uh-oh." He stopped midway through the pile and studied the return address on the letter. "Des Moine Marketing Distribution...wonder what they want with me?" He sat down to read it, Andrea curled up snugly against his shoulder. The worried, drawn frown had returned to his countenance. The baby burped up a small portion of sour milk onto the towel.

The front door closed and Patty, slightly damp from the mist, dashed in with her model horse. "I'm not late for dinner, am I?" She hurriedly knelt down in front of her stable and began untacking the roan mare.

"Huh. Well, the rotten little...they know we need those brochures in time for the convention next week!" Ferris glanced up from the letter, noticing his daughter for the first time. "Hey, how'd your ride go?"

"Good, Daddy! Miss Blue is all stretched out and calmed down. Her oats won't hurt her now!" Patty gently replaced the horse in line with all the others. "They're hungry," she murmured, fastening tiny feedbags over their noses.

Ferris frowned and raised his head, sniffing the air. "Something's burning!" He called out.

Sloane darted frantically toward the oven, where smoke was starting to visibly waft out. "Judy, I've got to go. My rolls are burning." She slammed down the phone and yanked open the oven door. Coughing and fanning away the black smoke with a pot holder, she swiftly pulled out her crispy fishsticks and the tray of black-singed rolls. As she closed the oven and shut it off, she suddenly became aware of Ferris standing beside her, the baby in his arms. She swiped her forehead and threw the trays down on the stovetop. "Dinner's ready," she murmured, not even glancing at him.

Ferris watched helplessly as she untangled herself from the phone's cord and slowly began preparing the dinner plates. There was a calm, stolid air to her demeanor, yet her hands shook as she scraped up the burnt food. He swallowed. "Darling, if you needed help, I..."

"I don't need help. Nothing's the matter." She replied lightly, shrugging it off. She turned and looked her husband up and down for the first time since he'd come home. "You're all wet."

Ferris smiled and hung his head in abashment, running a hand through his dark brown hair. "Well, I..."

"You shouldn't be holding the baby," Sloane quickly took Andrea back from him. As soon as she left her father's grasp, the infant began to whimper again. "What if she catches a chill from you? The last thing I need is for her to end up like Junior."

Sloane passed by him, carrying the baby out to her crib set up in the living room. Ferris watched her go, frowning slightly. "Junior? What's wrong with Junior?"

"He woke up with a fever this morning, so I kept him home from school. His temperature kept rising all morning," Sloane calmly set Andrea down in the crib and wrapped her up in a blanket, talking softly. "When it hit one-oh-one five at noon I decided to call the doctor."

"The doctor? You called the doctor out here?" Ferris stood dumbfounded in the archway, his hands hanging uselessly in his pockets. His mouth opened and shut repeatedly, at a loss from the right words. "Was it...I mean...you know what a house call like that is going to cost us?"

"Yes." Sloane crossed her arms and looked up at him, an intense light shining in her tired hazel eyes. "Junior's not like you, Ferris. He's _actually _sick. The Tylenol wasn't doing him any good, what was I supposed to do? I'm not just going to sit there and watch my child die, I'm going to do something!"

She marched up to him, looking like she was going to say something more. Thinking better of it, she shook her head and dropped her gaze. Scraggly strands of her brown hair escaped her ponytail and fell forward over her face.

The two stood silently in an awkward moment together, neither quite knowing what to say. Ferris finally leaned down in a move to kiss her. Sloane ducked out away from him and strolled into the dining room, her head high and thin shoulders set once more. Ferris blew out a long sigh through his nose as he watched her go.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

They were silent at dinner, sitting at two opposite ends of the table with three of their children sitting between them. Baby Andrea lay asleep in her crib and Junior was bedridden upstairs. Patty was busy forming her macaroni into the shape of a horse and Cam, sensing an uneasy tension, wisely kept his mouth shut. Emily, impervious to all the others, babbled on excitedly about things that didn't make sense at all, as three-year-olds are apt to do. Ferris broke up her talk with remarks like "oh?" and "is that so?" giving the impression he was paying close attention when he really wasn't at all. Sloane only opened her mouth once, to gently scold Patty for playing with her food.

After dinner, Cam stood over the sink washing dinner plates while Patty stood close by, drying them. It was a task both of them hated, but they didn't mind it so much when their father handed them their two-dollar allowance at the conclusion of each week. Ferris hated seeing them forced to do something they abhorred. The sight of them quietly resigned to bending over dishes at the end of each meal when they'd much rather be out enjoying life very nearly broke his heart. Someday, he silently vowed, he would teach them how to slip past the work and still end up with their allowance. After all, they were Buellers; they deserved to know how to have your cake and eat it, too.

On the still dirty stovetop, Sloane hastily heated a can of soup for Junior. Her small figure, misshapen from childbirth and buried in the folds of her baggy turtleneck, gave the impression that she could be blown away at the first gentle gust of wind. "Kids, I want you to get your baths and go to sleep early tonight. I have to go over to Mrs. Blake's house to finish setting up the church potluck."

"But Mommy! ABC's showing _Black Beauty _tonight!" Patty cried in dismay, flinging her dishcloth on the counter.

"Mom, Dad and me was goin' to start selling my peanut brittle 'fore it got took dark! I can't go to bed _now!" _Cam chimed in at the same time, his words intermingling with and canceling out his sister's.

Ferris, unable to watch them quietly any longer, strode up to the kids and placed a hand behind each of their backs. "It's okay, Sloane. I can put 'em to bed tonight."

"Of course you can." Sloane flashed him a feigned smile and turned back to heating up the soup. She picked up a spoon and stirred the watery mess vigorously. More loose strands of hair escaped her ponytail and fell around her face. With jerky movements, she reached up to tuck them back behind her ears. "You know the rules. Bed at eight-thirty, no later. Emily gets tucked in at seven."

"Yeah, yeah." Ferris grimaced. He hated the way Sloane set so many rules for their kids to follow!

Sloane finished pouring the lukewarm soup into a bowl and set it on a tray. "I'll take Junior's supper right up and then…"

"I can take it." Ferris reached around her and picked up the tray. "I want to go say hi to the little guy, anyway."

"Okay, then." She smiled thinly up at him and almost turned to go. She paused when she caught sight of the kids watching and reached up to give him a brief kiss on the cheek, seemingly out of forced necessity. She hurried out of the room, striding over to the crib. She gathered up Andrea in her arms and headed off for a quiet corner in the house to feed her one final time. Due to his own physical limitations, feeding the baby was the one thing Ferris could _not _do.

Ferris watched her go, then turned and picked up the tray. "I'll be down in a minute, kids," he murmured to Cam and Patty, and vaguely wondered where Emily had run off to.

He ascended the stairs and turned into the first small bedroom on his right, gently tapping on the door. The door opened into the bedroom Cam shared with his younger brother. On his side, his bed was sloppily made and scattered bits of his Boy Scout uniform lay crumpled in the folds. Comic books littered the floor surrounding his bed. A soccer ball poked out from underneath the trailing end of his comforter. Pictures of cartoons and sports heroes dotted the walls by his bed. The drawers of the bureau they both shared hung half open, clothes hanging messily over the edges. A Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles backpack slouched against the wall by the foot of the bed.

On the other side of the room lay five-year-old Ferris Bueller, Jr. He had kicked away most of his bed sheets, lying on top of the bed in a disturbed sleep. The little boy breathed softly, his round face not yet devoid of its innocence. His light brown hair nearly stuck up straight in all directions against the pillows. A damp washcloth had slipped off his forehead and fallen to the floor. It lay among the scattered heaps of toys that surrounded his bed.

Ferris cleared a couple of picture books off the foot of the bed before sitting down, the tray perched neatly on his lap. "Junior, you awake?" He reached down and gently shook the boy's shoulders.

His namesake blinked a couple of times and groaned. Junior had his mother's dark hazel eyes and his father's wide brow. He was not a bad-looking boy. In fact, he was every bit as good as Cam, who favored his father more distinctly. Ferris had often used this to point out that Junior, as opposed to Cam, was a lot more like their mother, but Sloane desisted; she claimed that Junior was every bit his father's.

"Daddy?" The boy croaked pathetically, making Ferris smile.

"I didn't see you when I came home. What's the matter, buddy? You sick or something?"

"Hurt," Junior groaned, his mouth curling downward into a pained frown.

"I'm sorry, pal. What's hurting you?" Ferris smiled.

"Hurt all over." The boy mumbled. He pointed to a paper sack sitting next to him. "I was sick all night."

"Yeah, I can see that." Ferris grimaced and bit his lip. Perhaps Sloane was right. The boy was definitely a lot worse than he had thought. He picked up the tray and propped it up on his son's lap. "Look, I brought you something to make you feel better."

Junior slowly shook his head. "Not hungry."

"Not hungry? Come on, if you ever want to get better, you've got to eat _something!_" Ferris chided, shaking his head.

"No. Read me." Junior weakly indicated the storybooks lying at the end of his bed.

Ferris started to shake his head. "Junior, I can't…All right. Tell you what. I'll make a deal with you." He leaned close. "I'll read you a story, but you've got to promise to try to eat your soup." He grinned and sat back up. "What do you say? Is it a deal?"

Junior nodded slowly, smiling to reveal a hole where one of his front teeth should have been.

"All right." Ferris tousled the boy's brown locks and picked up the closest picture book. He cleared his throat importantly and flipped to the first page. " 'On the fifteenth of May in the Jungle of Nool, in the heat of the day, in the cool of the pool, he was splashing – enjoying the jungle's great joys – when Horton the elephant heard a small noise'…"

"Good morning, afternoon, or evening, sir or madam," Cam read slowly from a paper downstairs. He sat on the couch, hunched over it intently. On the floor in front of him, Patty was placing blankets and leg bandages on her toy horses. "My name is Cameron Bueller," he continued. "I am a member of Troop 1016 of the Boy Scouts of America. Would you like to support your local Boy Scout branch with the purchase of a box of peanut brittle?"

"No," Patty replied flatly, not even turning around.

Cam frowned. "Hey, I wasn't talking to you!"

Patty shrugged. "I know. But if you was, I'd still say no."

"That's real funny." Cameron stood up and marched over to her. "I oughta kick your horse right out the window!" He paused in front of a Paint colt, his foot raised threateningly.

Patty shrieked and flung herself over the horse in protection. "Don't you dare!"

Cam laughed at his sister's expense and sat back down on the couch. "Where's Emily?" He finally asked.

"Cameron, you're a meanie!" Patty sobbed, hugging the Paint horse tightly to her chest. Her brown eyes glared viciously at her brother, tears running in rivulets down her cheeks. "You're a meanie to want to hurt an innocent horse! It never did anything to you!" She gathered up her other horses and shook her head, slowly standing up. "If you ever hurt my horses, I'd die! I'd just die!" She turned and fled upstairs for the comfort of her room, her stringy braids swinging behind her.

" '…a person is a person, no matter how small.'" Ferris looked up from the book to see Junior fast asleep, his chest rising and falling rhythmically. Ferris smiled and shook his head, closing the book and setting the tray of cooling soup on the nightstand. He gently laid a hand on the boy's forehead, and lowered his own head worriedly when he felt the heat.

"…Troop 1016 of the Boy Scouts of America." Cam looked up when he heard the front door open and saw Emily slipping back inside. Brown goo stuck to her fingers and mouth, and there was a large brown smudge on the front of her shirt.

"Where've you been?" He asked suspiciously.

Emily smiled. "Ice cream man. Ice cream man. Ice cream man," she chanted happily.

"You went and got ice cream all by yourself?" Cam blanched. "That's dangerous!"

Emily smiled, shaking her head. "Me no hurt."

"You still coulda got hurt, though! You're really stupid, you know that, Emily? I'm going to tell Mom on you and you're going to get in big trouble!"

Emily paused at the base of the stairs, giving him a coy look and twisting one of her feet around in place. "Mommy no home. Daddy home."

Cam shook his head in disgust as he watched her disappear up the stairs. He knew she'd get away with it. She got away with everything. She could do no wrong in the eyes of her parents. And to Cam's mind, it wasn't the slightest bit fair.

A minute later, his father came down the stairs, scratching the back of his head tiredly. "Cam?"

The boy sat up eagerly. "Yeah, Dad?"

"Why is Patty crying in her room?"

Cam contritely looked down at the carpet. "I don't know."

"All right." Ferris sat down in his chair and pulled out the evening _Tribune. _"I'm just going to sit here and wait until I know what's up."

Cam sighed. "I was just going to kick over one of her horses. She was being snotty to me! I had to do _something." _He proclaimed hotly in self-defense.

Ferris didn't glance up from his paper, speaking in a light and disinterested tone, as if he were talking about someone else's problem, "Well, Cam, you know better than to tease your sister about her horses. The girl is goofy for them."

"Yeah, I know." Cam muttered. Suddenly, he brightened. "Hey! What if I go buy her a new horse with the money I win for selling the most peanut brittle?"

Ferris shrugged. "Sure, I don't see why not. She's had her eye on that little palomino colt for weeks."

"Dad, are you still going to help me with my sale spitch?" Cam jumped up and waved his paper in the air.

Ferris leaned forward and clapped his hands together. "Sure, let's hear it."

The boy held the paper up in front of his face and cleared his throat. "Good morning, afternoon, or evening, sir or madam. My name is Cameron Bueller. I am a member of Troop…"

"No, no, no." Ferris waved at Cam to stop, shaking his head. "That's not going to work. You need something else."

Cam looked up at his father. "You mean you don't like it?"

"It's okay if all you want to sell is a couple of boxes to the little old lady on the corner." Ferris was staring off into the distance, his finger tapping his chin incessantly. "We're trying to reach a much wider audience here. What you need is an all-new pitch."

Cam held up the paper. "But this is the one Mr. Anderson told us to…"

Ferris put a reassuring hand on the child's arm. "When Mr. Anderson is the director of an entire marketing department and is known all over the Midwest as the face of a firm like Meadowbrook Insurance Adjustment, you call him up on how to write a sales pitch."

Cam smiled. "Father knows best, right?"

"I know I'm right! And you will, too, who you sell the most peanut brittle." Ferris winked and turned his attention to the paper. "Now, how you really want to start off is…"

At that moment, the phone began to ring. Andrea let out a frightened moan from her crib. "Telly calling phone! Telly calling phone!" Emily called out from somewhere upstairs. Ferris sighed and got up to answer it.

"Yeah…Hey, what's happening? …Okay, slow down for a second, Randy. Run that by me again…Uh-huh. I got the same letter today…" Ferris moved over to the mail pile and pulled one of the envelopes out of the stack. His shoulders became set in weary determination and the worried frown puckered his countenance once more. "I know what rate they quoted on the invoice. They're just trying to con us out of our money by withholding those pamphlets right before the convention, the damned distributors…well, who runs this place? He got a name?" He pulled out the letter and examined the heading. "Yeah…Yeah, I got it. Hank P. Chandler. His number's on here, too…You call him up about the invoice, and if he gives you any trouble, you tell him I'll call him up myself! I'm sick and tired of this shit!"

Cam sat back down on the couch and hung his head dejectedly while his father prattled on. Forgotten, he listlessly swung and clapped his feet together over the carpet.

* * *

"…But that is not the price you sent us after we placed the order!" Ferris leaned tiredly against the kitchen counter with the phone pressed to his ear, staring out from the kitchen window at the rain that had steadily begun to fall again. His patience was wearing thin with Mr. Chandler, whom he'd been talking with for close to an hour. He was still clad in his shirtsleeves, but his tie hung completely undone around his neck. His eyes were beginning to lose focus, making his head hurt. He ran a hand through his hair as he talked, then absently stroked the patchy remnants of his five o'clock shadow.

"I know we need them by Monday…the company will pay for the express shipping as long as you agree to the fee you originally quoted…Uh-huh…I see…Yeah, well, you ask a favor from Meadowbrook sometime and see where it gets you!" He hung the phone up angrily and pressed his forehead against one of the cabinets, suppressing a groan.

Sloane came up behind him and gently placed a hand on his back. "Ferris. You okay?"

He slowly straightened and turned around, a worn smile in place for her. "When'd you get back?"

"While ago." She strained to get a good look at his face in the moonlight, a worried gleam in her eyes. "You talked to that man a long time."

"Nah. It's okay." Ferris took her hands in his to still them and leaned down to kiss her cheek. This time, she stood quietly for him.

"It's not," she said flatly. "Ferris, you've been so tired lately."

"So have you." He gazed down at his little wife. She'd aged considerably since she'd been a cheerleader in high school. She'd gone from beautiful to plain in a relatively short period of time. She'd lost all pride in her appearance, and had let it go by the wayside. Yet, despite all she'd lost, she'd gained something, too. Her watchful, discerning look and increased, thoughtful reticence bespoke a sagacity well ahead of her years.

"I have five children to take care of," she murmured softly, a smile playing on the corners of her mouth. Seeing the appraisal in his expression, she shook her head. "I know I've changed, Ferris. I had to." When he opened his mouth to speak, she gently laid a finger on his lips. "Don't tell me you've changed, Ferris."

He looked down at her in surprise. A note of fear had managed to creep into her voice, something he didn't detect there very often. He still had the ability to make her feel for him, and her vulnerability roused his compassion. Smiling, he took her in his arms and held her close. They embraced in quiet dignity, listening to the rain patter against the windowpane. The wall clock ticked loudly. In the distance, thunder rolled.

"You know that business trip to Cleveland I've got to take next week?" Ferris murmured, breaking the silence.

"Yeah?"

"I want you to come with me. We both need a break, that much is obvious. It's the perfect opportunity."

"What would we do in Cleveland?" Sloane cocked a brow at him dubiously.

"We'd go to the best hotel and register the biggest suite they have as the King and Queen of Brussels. All we'd need are a couple of French accents and a guy to play our servant, that's not too hard. We'd live in the lap of luxury for a whole week."

"And how exactly are we going to pay for this?"

"We wouldn't. We'd leave before check out…erm…in the middle of the night."

Sloane giggled, smiling as she saw the old light return to Ferris's features.

"Then we'd take a boat across the border and spend our time fishing on Lake Eerie in Canada until the whole scam blows over. Just think about it: you and me, alone, with nothing to do except what we wanted." He hugged her tighter, the idea gripping him with a desirous ardor.

"I thought you had a convention to attend."

Ferris shrugged. "After we get there, I could just happen to come down with one of my unexplainable illnesses…" He raised his eyebrows. "Randy could go to the convention in my place. He ought to present for us, anyway. He wrote the pamphlet. Besides, it'll be good for him. It'll teach him to deal with his fear of public speaking."

Sloane laughed. "And the kids?"

Ferris shrugged. "I can get Jeannie to come and watch them. She's never turned me down when I've asked her."

Sloane reclined her head back happily, linking her arms together around her husband's neck. "It sounds wonderful," she breathed, shivering with pleasure.

Ferris gripped the loose folds of her orange sweater. He leaned down and closed his eyes, his mouth seeking hers. One of her hands gently took hold of his cheek and guided him to it. Their lips met in a soft, gentle kiss that bespoke something far greater than sensuality.

Sloane cupped his face in her hands, stroking his chin bristle with her long, delicate fingers. Ferris relaxed his grip, content to let his hands rest on the small of her back.

Not two seconds had passed when the baby's wail pierced the evening silence. Immediately, they froze, their bodies rigid, listening. Andrea continued to cry as though her heart would break. Sloane gazed up at her husband sadly as reality settled back in around them. "I have to go."

Ferris reluctantly watched her pull away and turn her back on him. He waited until she'd disappeared up the stairs, thin shoulders set and head up once more, before tearing his gaze away. He stared down at the linoleum and swallowed, wondering why he suddenly felt like he'd just been punched in the stomach.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Chapter 4**_

"Hey, are you all right?"

Cam peeked out from behind a Spider-Man comic book and gazed up at his father, who was worriedly standing over his bed. "Yeah, Dad," he said softly.

Ferris, showered and clad in his t-shirt and boxers, hesitantly sat down on the edge of the bed. "Look, pal, I…I think I owe you an apology." He looked down at his hands, aimlessly picking at a hangnail. "I promised you I'd help you with your pitch and then…when work came up, I…"

"It's okay, Dad. We can do it tomorrow." Cam sat up, gazing at his father imploringly. It made him uneasy to see his dad, who was usually so calm and collected, stand humiliated before him.

Ferris slowly smiled and cuffed the boy on the head. "You're right. The minute I get home, we'll do nothing else. We'll have your first hundred boxes sold before the weekend's out." Feeling relieved, he pushed himself to his feet and turned toward the bed on the opposite side of the room.

"Dad…"

He swung his head back around. "Yeah, son?"

Cam looked down and fiddled with the sheets of his comic book. "Are you…gonna come to my game on Saturday? I been practicing my kicks like you told me to, real hard."

Ferris bit his lip guiltily. "Uh, sure, pal. I'll be there."

"You promise?" Cam gave him a long, doleful look.

"I – I promise." Ferris smiled, hardly able to meet his son's gaze. They both still hadn't forgotten what had happened the last time Ferris went to one of Cam's games. Thinking his father was proudly looking on, Cam had scored two goals for his team while Ferris had actually been in the bathroom completing a conference call. It still pained him to remember walking out of the rest area to see his son standing all alone on the field while his teammates celebrated with their parents around him, scanning the crowd for his dad and not finding him there.

Ferris presently turned and looked down at Junior, shaking his head. The boy still looked flushed and there was a wheezing hitch to his breath. The sheets lay soaked and rumpled around him and his sick bag sat close by. He moaned softly, hardly able to open his hazel eyes wide enough to see his father.

"Daddy?" He mumbled when he felt his father's hand on his forehead.

"You're burning up." Ferris knelt down by the nightstand. He picked up the bottle of antibiotics sitting on the tabletop and carefully examined the label. "You been taking the medicine the doctor gave you?"

Junior slowly nodded. "They make me sick," he croaked.

His heart thudding in his throat, Ferris solemnly set about straightening the bed, tucking the sticky covers in tightly around his son. "Get some sleep, pal. You really need it."

"Daddy…can I go to school tomorrow?"

Ferris gave a short laugh and shook his head. "Junior, you're sick. You've got to stay in bed until your fever breaks."

"But…but my field trip's tomorrow…and…and…what if they don't gratooat me?"

"Take it easy, son. Don't go making yourself worse." Ferris patted the boy's head, his fingers trying to smooth down the sticky, brown locks. Even though it was still a few weeks away, he knew Junior was already preparing for, and worrying about missing, his kindergarten graduation in May.

"Am I gonna get better, Daddy?" Junior slowly whispered.

Ferris gulped and felt a pang tear at his heart. It took him a few moments to regain his voice. "Oh, yeah. Sure. You're going to be just fine."

A small smile tugged at the corners of Junior's mouth. He sighed, feeling reassured by his father's words. "Night, Daddy."

"Keep the faith, pal." Ferris leaned down and gently kissed the boy's brow. He took one of the small, limp hands of the child and clasped it firmly in his own. He bowed his head over the small body and a single, shuddering sob racked his frame.

* * *

After saying goodnight to the boys, Ferris opened the door across the hall and entered the girls' room.

Almost immediately, he was greeted by the site of Patty kicking around in her bed. In each of her hands, she held the ends of a white string, which ran underneath her feet. An extension tied on the end placed a small loop around each neck of two blood bay model horses. She slackened and tightened the rope with her kicking, her feet imitating the rhythm of a two-beat trot. She clicked her tongue against her teeth, murmuring encouragement to the horses at the end of the rope.

Ferris smiled and shook his head. "You're crazy, Patty."

The girl glanced up at him, still kicking at the rope. "Tonight is driving night. I'm only allowed on Tuesdays and Thursdays." She turned her head to look at the alarm clock sitting on her nightstand. "I still got one minute left." She chirped to the models and began moving her feet together in a sort of rollicking gait. "Come on, Pet and Pretty! Canter!"

Ferris walked past her bed and looked down into Andrea's crib, which was situated against the far wall. The baby was lying on her stomach, cooing contentedly. Next to her head lay her battered teddy bear, which she was presently drooling on. He smiled and reached past her musical mobile to pat her head, where coppery brown locks were just beginning to sprout.

The noise Patty and Andrea generated filled the room, which caused Ferris to stop short in surprise when he saw Emily lying in bed, already fast asleep. He picked up the shirt she'd worn earlier from where it was lying at the foot of her pink bed. He examined the large, brown spot for a minute before putting it up to his nose. There was no mistaking the sweet, chocolate odor. He shrugged and tossed it back on the floor. "Some dirt," he mumbled.

Emily hiccoughed and stirred slightly in bed.

Ferris pondered her in bemusement for a second. "It's a wonder how she can sleep in all this noise." Shaking his head, he knelt down and gently kissed her cheek, stroking her dirty blonde strands with his finger. "Night, Princess."

The innocent young face seemed to smile in reply as she burrowed deeper into the folds of her comforter.

Ferris turned off the Big Bird night lamp sitting on her dresser before slowly walking back to Patty's end of the room.

"Whoa, easy now," Patty murmured, pulling up on the string. "Whoa, whoa…" She sat up and patted them before carefully removing the loops from each of the horse's necks. Her dark brown hair, freed from its stringy braids, fell in waves over her shoulders. Her hair was pretty, Ferris mused, but it contrasted so starkly with her freckled, rabbity face. He often wondered if she would've been better off being born a boy.

He watched her gently rub a rag over the horses' matte hides. "You ready to put them to bed now?"

"Oh, no, Daddy!" Patty looked up at him, her expression horrified. "I have to cool them out first! I couldn't let them go to bed all sweaty, and their muscles cramped! I'd be hurting them!"

Ferris set the discarded string aside and sat down on the edge of her bed. Unlike Emily's pink comforter, Patty's comprised of earth tones and pictured horses running across it. He reached out and laid a hand on one of her knees that protruded out from her thin, cotton nightgown. "Well, this is one cowgirl who needs to hit the hay."

"But Daddy, what about Pet and Pretty?" She exclaimed in alarm as he slowly pushed her back down against the pillows.

He sighed, smiling good-naturedly. "What do you have to do to cool them off?"

"Walk each one around the dining room. Real slow. Five times usually does the trick."

Ferris picked up the two bay horses. "And could you do both of them at the same time?"

Patty was silent, considering his question for a moment. "Pet wouldn't mind it. He isn't bothered by much. He's a real sweetie. But Pretty's a handful. She likes to bully Pet, and if you aren't careful with her, she'll run away."

"Mm. Hothead, huh?" Ferris set the horses aside and set about tucking her in. "Look, if you go to bed now, I'll cool your horses off for you."

"You will, Daddy?" Her dark brown eyes glowed happily. "You'll walk each one five times, and make sure Pretty doesn't run away?"

Yep." He stood over her and shook his head again. She had the homeliest face he'd ever seen, yet she had more sense than all the rest of his brood.

She turned her head and stared at the picture of galloping horses she'd recently added to her wall. Magazine and postcard pictures of various horses in various poses dotted her wall, each secured in place with several peeling pieces of scotch tape. The wild horse herd was situated closest to her spot at the head of her bed.

"I've named them already," she whispered, nodding toward the next picture. "My favorite's the stallion." She pointed to a prancing palomino at the back of the herd. "Highboy. And those are his foals. I can see his other foals, the ones that're born when he's crossed with the roan, and the appaloosa, and that red dun mare right there at the edge of the herd. I can feel what it would be like to ride him. I can see his whole family grazing underneath him on top of a grassy ridge. I can see where they live, plain as day…"

"You like your picture?" Ferris grinned.

"I could stare at it for hours and hours and be perfectly happy, Daddy." Patty breathed, gazing mesmerized at the postcard.

"Will you promise me to stop looking at it long enough to get some sleep?" He gently turned her head away from the wall.

"I can't go to sleep. I want to look at my horses some more." She stole a wistful glance at the mustangs again.

"If you can see all of that stuff when you look at them, think of all the things you'll see when you dream about them."

"I hadn't thought about that." Patty replied in a dreamy whisper.

"Night, Cowgirl." Ferris kissed her cheek and felt her give him a small peck in return.

He stood to leave, turning toward the door. Patty let out a small cry and sat back up in bed. "Daddy, the horses!" She cried, pointing to the two bays sitting on her nightstand.

He snatched them up and gave her a knowing smile. "Just testing you."

"Remember, five times around the dining room." Patty waggled a finger at him warningly.

"Yeah. I will." Ferris reached over and turned off the last light. He nodded at her and waved. "Good night."

Patty wearily lay back down. "Night, Daddy."

He closed the door and stood for a second in the hall, examining the model horses in his hands. He'd already forgotten which one was Pet and which one was Pretty. To his eyes, they appeared to be perfectly identical. "I wonder how she…" his voice trailed off as he turned them over on their stomachs. "Oh. _That's _how."


	5. Chapter 5

_**Chapter 5**_

Ferris continued down the hall to his bedroom and gently pushed open the door. The room was dark and full of shadows, masking the simple oak furniture in a grotesque half-light. The walls, pale blue in color, stared blankly back at him. Separate dressers stood opposite each other, paired with distinctly separate ends of the sliding-door wall closet. The only touches of personalization in the room were framed photographs of the children, which perched atop the dressers in a scattered, homey way. The white bed sitting with its headboard against the far wall was already unmade, and Sloane's prone form was visible from underneath the sheets on her side.

Ferris slowly set Patty's model horses down on his dresser top and closed the bedroom door. The only light visible in the room was a soft, light blue glow that emanated from the curtained windows. He gazed at Sloane for a second, then walked over and climbed in on his side. As he got himself situated, he pulled nearly all the sheets over on his side. Ferris was a blanket hog. It was one of his many habits that Sloane absolutely hated. Sure enough, not two seconds went by before she was angrily jerking them back over on her side.

"I had a feeling you weren't asleep yet." Ferris grinned.

"How can I sleep?" She murmured in reply.

He rolled over and gently touched her shoulder. "I thought you'd be tired after a day like this."

"I am tired." She closed her eyes, sighing deeply. "So very, very tired…"

Ferris frowned when he saw the fleeting traces of a scowl cross her once pretty countenance. He tentatively reached out and smoothed her hair. "Darling, what's wrong?"

"Everything." She turned her head toward the window to avoid her husband's gaze. Her thin shoulders, clothed in one of Ferris's t-shirts, shuddered unsteadily before becoming set once more.

A minute passed. The ticking of the wall clock and the gentle sound of rain pattering on the roof were the only sounds to break up the silence. Finally, Sloane spoke. "You remember our honeymoon?"

Ferris sighed happily and smiled. He folded his arms behind his head and stared up at the ceiling. "It was the spring of '87. You were four weeks away from graduating and I was home on spring break from Chicago State. After the wedding, we hitchhiked our way west until we ended up in a remote trucker's diner in the middle of Kansas. We stayed the night there, just you and me, in our own special little corner…"

"The barman thought I was a call girl," Sloane murmured, smiling.

"We got to Abilene and spent the whole day in the Eisenhower Library…" Ferris slowly let his voice trail off, full of emotion.

"I never thought someplace like that could be so much fun." Sloane shook her head. "That poor family we got to take our picture in front of his statue…they must have thought we were crazy."

"We certainly looked like we were." Ferris laughed. "Thank God we found that Beerman's on the edge of town. We were able to get clean again."

"And we got all gussied up for that charity bazaar the governor was hosting on the top floor of the big hotel. We snuck in through the fire escape in the back. We ate so much paté that the governor was giving us funny looks."

Ferris shrugged. "Hey, at least we did it stylishly. Remember how I won the five hundred dollars in the raffle?"

"You snuck your name in the hat when no one was looking. I couldn't believe it when it was actually drawn!"

"Just lucky, I guess. And you know what I did with it?"

"You bought two first-class air tickets and two gate admissions to Sea World." Sloane's eyes misted over as she stared out the window at the darkening clouds. "The most amazing part of the whole trip was actually getting to swim with Shamu in front of a live audience." She glanced over her shoulder at Ferris. "I'll never know how you managed to get those wet suits and sneak us past security."

"Then we walked to the closest rest stop and got on a bus to get home." Ferris smiled. "We just happened to pick a bus that was carrying a touring Baptist church choir. We got up on the seats and stomped and clapped with them all the way back to Chicago."

"I sang hymns till I was hoarse." Sloane smiled. "When we got back, I told you I never wanted to hear another piece of Gospel music again."

"Yeah." Ferris chuckled. "It was pretty cool, wasn't it?"

"That's the way I thought our life was going to be," Sloane murmured, close to tears. "All the way...all the way up until I found out I was pregnant the morning of graduation."

She got up out of bed and padded over to the window, hugging herself tightly. Ferris's t-shirt, too large for her misshapen torso, sagged and billowed out around it. "It's 1995. Now look where we are." She covered her face with one of her hands and softly began to cry, leaning her forehead against the window pane.

Ferris shrugged, thinking over their situation. "We just made the last mortgage payment on the house. We've got a car that's held up well, considering it's got 67,000 miles on it. We have a color TV set that gets 12 different channels. The neighbors are decent, and our folks live close by. We've got five terrific kids." He shook his head. "Junior worries me, though. Patty used to, but not anymore. She's strange but she's smart, she's really smart. You've been the perfect mother, staying home to raise them, cooking the meals, keeping the house clean..." he sighed bleakly, his eyes tracing an invisible pattern on the ceiling. "And I'm something called an insurance adjustor."

"Oh, Ferris," she gasped, dabbing at her blotchy red eyes. "How did we ever become so _ordinary?"_

"Hey..." Ferris slowly got up and walked over to Sloane. He stood behind her, resting his hands lightly on her arms.

She quickly turned and wriggled out of his grasp. "No!" She stormed back over to the bed and crawled in on her side.

Ferris followed her helplessly, for once at a loss as to what to say. He knelt down beside her head and opened his mouth, but she turned away from him. He sighed heavily and got back in bed on his side.

He lay there for a while, quietly mulling things over in his mind. "I haven't thought about it much, Sloane," he finally murmured, "I've just...done the best I could to...I guess I sort of forgot about myself...and all this time, life's been passing me by...and I haven't really gotten to...sit down and enjoy it." He grimaced suddenly and sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. "I'm twenty-seven...thirty will be knocking on my door before I know it...then I'll be an old man..."

"It isn't so bad for me," Sloane ventured tremulously, her head still turned away from Ferris. She reached up and brushed away her gently flowing tears. "I have the kids. I've lost everything else, but at least I've got the kids. What about you? What have you got?"

Ferris shrugged. "Job that pays forty thousand a year..."

"A job that takes all your time, a job that makes you worry about climbing the corporate ladder because the money doesn't stretch far enough, a job that's taking all the fun out of you, a job that'll have you wasting what's left of your life on appraising equities in life insurance policies!"

Ferris slowly turned toward her, a woeful expression on his face. "You're not happy, are you?"

She furiously shook her head, still facing the window.

"You want a divorce?"

She tugged more of the sheets on her side and pulled them around her, ignoring the question.

He turned back on his side and stared bleakly at the wall. After thinking for a few minutes, he said aloud, "You could have had the best man in town..."

"You _were _the best man in town."

"Not anymore, though." He closed his eyes wearily, a deep sense of failure overtaking him. "You know, I've been thinking about leaving the firm for some time..."

Sloane sat up in surprise. "You have?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Been thinking about going into politics."

Sloane stared at him for a second, then laughed and shook her head in disbelief. "Ferris, you can't seriously think you could run for mayor..."

"Who said anything about running for mayor? I was talking about the House of Representatives."

"The House! In Washington?" Sloane's eyes widened incredulously.

He shrugged. "Sure. It's the first step to putting one foot in the White House."

Sloane felt the wind rush out of her in astonishment. For a second, she couldn't breathe. Slowly, she reached out and touched his arm. When he turned over and smiled up at her, she slowly began shaking her head. "You're really serious about this, aren't you?"

He laughed and nodded.

"Ferris Bueller, what makes you think you could ever be President of the United States?"

"Well, why not? I'd do as well as anybody. And it's not like it'd be the first time an Illinois statesman is elected President." He nodded toward a penny sitting face up on the nightstand.

"You were very popular with everyone you met once, I'll grant you that." Sloane lay back down, but remained facing him.

"What are you talking about? I still am! Meadowbrook wouldn't have the business it does today if my face weren't on the ads they have plastered on every billboard and city bus downtown!"

Sloane smiled. "Excuse me, Mr. Claims You Can Count On."

"Never mind," he mumbled. "You can go ahead and laugh at me now. But I've got it all worked out."

"Who said I was laughing?" She shook her head, letting her hair fall around her face, and gave him a coy look.

He raised a finger at her. "Now, I'm serious. An attitude like that won't get me a county seat, let alone President."

"Chill out, Ferris. I'm going to vote for you." She nestled her head against his and stared up at the ceiling, trying to find the spot her husband was staring so intensely at. "What party would you be? Republican or Democrat?"

"Neither. I'd start my own party."

"What?"

"Yeah, my own party. The cool party. The Ferris Bueller party."

"Ferris...no third party candidate has ever been President."

"No third party candidate has had my widespread appeal. And like I told you, I've got it all worked out...you know how many electoral votes it takes to become President?"

"Too many for you to win."

"It's 270. 270 out of 538 electoral votes. Usually, when the race is between two guys, it's not so hard for one of them to get that majority. But what if an extremely popular third candidate throws his hat in the ring? When it all works out the way I see it, nobody will have 270 votes. See, that's the point; I'm there to make sure nobody gets the magic number. So then the election is taken to the body that votes in the event that the electoral college is deadlocked." He raised his eyebrows at her, grinning.

"The House of Representatives," Sloane breathed in awe.

"See? I told you. I got it all worked out." Ferris folded his arms behind his head and turned to look back up at the ceiling. "That's why I've got to go to the House first. Besides, I'm already old enough to be a Rep."

"Who's going to be your campaign manager?"

Ferris shrugged. "Cameron could. He went to some trade school in D.C., didn't he?"

"I thought he went into real estate. Somebody at school said he was training to be an agent." Sloane laughed, remembering their awkward high school friend. "Where is he now, anyway?"

"West Virginia, I think. To be close to his mother-in-law." Ferris was silent for a minute, mulling it all over. "The FBI headquarters are in West Virginia," he murmured absently. Half a second passed. Suddenly, he realized the implication of what he'd just said. His eyes widened incredulously. "Do you think...?"

They turned to look at each other, shocked expressions on their faces. Then they smiled and shook their heads. "Nah."

"You'll love the campaign trail, Sloane." Ferris turned so he was on his back once more. "We'll be traveling the country, getting treated like VIPs. We'd go to all sorts of parties and events, standing up on stages and getting to meet all sorts of people..."

"But Ferris," Sloane frowned. "If politics mean that we'll have to go out and make appearances everywhere...what will the kids do?"

"Jeannie could watch hasn't been a time yet when I couldn't get her to sit with the kids when I needed her."

"Oh," she said softly, her hopes dashed. She tried to contain her apprehensions for another minute before they suddenly burst forth. "Ferris, I don't know if I can do it. I...I couldn't just stand up in front of people everywhere, and pose for pictures and smile and wave like...like I'm happily married."

He looked over at her, his face expressionless. "Aren't you happily married?"

She stammered helplessly. "I...I don't...I guess...it depends on whether you love me or not...do you love me?"

"Of course," he replied automatically. "Do you love me?"

She paused. "Sure," she finally replied evenly, her eyes trained on the pinstripes running down her pillow.

"Well...now that that's settled...I guess we'll be okay, then."

Sloane looked up to see him smiling. It was the boyish smile he wore whenever he knew things were going according to his plan. She laughed and shook her head. "You mean, now that that's settled, we're ready to actually go through with this...President...thing."

"Hey, we've got to be ready for 2004." He reached out and laid a hand on her shoulder. "You won't regret this, Sloane. This is going to be the greatest adventure of our lives. We'll have more fun than you've ever imagined. It'll be just like it used to be, only we'll have the kids with us this time."

Sloane laughed. "Can you imagine our kids in the White House?"

He grinned. "Yeah. Emily will love it. I can see Cam playing soccer right out on the lawn. We'd finally have the space to give Patty her own horse. Paper and plastic ones are only going to keep her happy so long before she wants the real thing, anyway."

"There's so many people, places and events wrapped up in a place like Washington." Sloane smiled widely. "Oh, Ferris, it'll be wonderful!"

"When I'm old enough. That means you're going to have to hold out another eight years." Ferris held out his hand, smiling tentatively. "So, will you wait for me?"

She stared at the hand for a moment, a sly smile spreading across her face. "I can do better than that."

She clutched the collar of his t-shirt and bridged the gap between them, placing her mouth on his. Ferris put his arms around her and gently began kissing her back. He slowly let it grow deeper, giving more only when she asked for it. When they finally did pull away, Ferris gazed down at her and found her face perfectly radiant, almost as if she was still in the bloom of her youth. He reached up to lay his hand against her cheek. "I've missed you, Sloane."

She shook her head, her eyes misting up as she gazed at him. The light had returned to Ferris's eyes. He looked more like the man she had married instead of the tired, broken-down businessman she'd been living with. She threw her arms around him, pressing herself close. "Oh, Ferris! You're back! You're back!"

"We'll start going after that House seat first thing tomorrow morning. I'm going to need you to help me." He looked down and kissed the top of her head. "Good night, darling."

She closed her eyes and nestled deeper against him, smiling. "Good night, Mr. President."


End file.
